Girl On Fire
by anaadele
Summary: Her tongue caresses my neck and over my chest. I breathe deeper with each swoosh, my hands held still by her own. / A one-shot. A day out for Katniss and her lover boy.


We're deep in the woods at her father's lake, sun casing the entire canvas. Its rays reflect off the water and I'm convinced the mirrored landscape that flames across her bare back must be how a diamond glistens in the light. Katniss Everdeen, girl on fire. Girl I'm uncontrollably in love with. The water rests just below the small of her back and yet she moves as fluently as on a hunt. It takes every bit of me not to run and consume her in my arms.

"Marco," she dully shouts. I'm behind her but I can see her eyes rolling just the same.

"Polo!" I yell back. She swiftly turns in the water to the sound of my voice. I don't move, I'm a good 10 feet away and she has to tag me to win.

"Marco," she says. Now the sight of her bare breast is something I can't resist. I lick my lips.

"Polo!" Although she's skilled enough to know I'm perpendicular to her, she doesn't move.

"This is dumb," she fumes.

"No, this is fun," I insist.

"It's dumb," she flatly states. Her eyes remain shut as she tangents on, "it can't be fun with only two people. I tag you, you tag me, I tag you again. If _you_ wanted it to be fun, you should've let the kids come with us. It would be _fun_ to see them zip back and forth at all the voices. Then again you would think this is—"

Before she can finish, I smack my lips against her. With the help of a whistling breeze and that rant, I managed to glide directly in front of her. Crossing my hands around the dimples above her rear, I lift her with ease.

I love Katniss always, but when we're like this, out in in the woods, naked, free, bodies hard-pressed together, it doesn't get any more real. Her hands ruffle through my hair as she kisses back, now there's no denying she's having fun.

The sun's rays make visible lines that scatter among the trees, I reach up to touch one focused right at my left hand intertwined with Katniss' right. I look directly into the sun and I promise I see the appearance of a woman's face smiling. Her eyes crinkle at the points, slight wrinkles curving around her lips.

Bathing in the warmth, we're drying off on a thin cover we've brought from home. I enjoy being a nudist with Katniss. Our hands clasp tight as we lay parallel to each other, only her right leg rest upon mine.

"I told you it'd be fun," I joke. Her laugh echoes in the air. "Admit it."

"Marco Polo turned out to be a very fun game. I admit." And I smile. "I heard you coming up though, you weren't _that _quiet." My turn to laugh.

"No different Katniss, I got the results I wanted," I say turning to face her. Her braid is fully dry, every strand in place. She's radiating a soft tint of orange and when I blow on her cheek, the layer ripples delicately. Katniss, girl on fire.

"Because I let you!" she giggles.

We're baking under the bright star, but our skin doesn't burn. Even though the heat weighs heavily in the air, the oxygen I inhale is clear and buoyant.

"I love you, Katniss."

Her voice bellows in tune and simultaneously all the birds harmonize when she replies, "And I love you too."

The skies instantly join in amusement and clouds rush the open air above us, ready to put on a show. Dark fog curtains pull to the sides to reveal an array of animals detailed in puffy shapes.

"I like that one," Katniss admires. Of course she does, it's a mockingjay. On cue, the sound of a flock of mockingjays sing as the scene in the air plays out with two bird clouds.

The fog ends the act effortlessly.

"And a posy for my girl," I request. She lets out a stifled laugh and pulls closer to me, throwing her left arm over my chest and resting her head underneath my chin. Our view still unobstructed, the clouds whirl into the Meadow.

"All your favorites, Katniss, rue, primrose, dandelions, blue sage," I say, naming the flowers assembled in bouquet swaying in the sky. I picked her blue sage on our first official anniversary. Each blossom is distinguishable in the various shades revealed upon the clouds.

"The perfect posy," she agrees. Her lips tickle my ear. Gently tugging on the lob with her teeth, a short gasp explodes from my mouth.

"You're perfect, Katniss."

Her lips linger down my cheek and to my neck. I let her continue the matinée with her own sequence. Her tongue caresses my neck and over my chest. I breathe deeper with each swoosh, my hands held still by her own. Reaching my lips, I freeze the moment. Birds in mid-flight float, the water in the lake layered with waves that keep their form, the wind can't even be heard. Her kiss so profound, I can taste her love.

"I love you," she whispers, gazing into my eyes. I see our life together flicker in the blacks of hers.

"And, I love you, too," I reply. She leans in once more and softly pecks my lips. A jolt runs through my body as if she was made with electricity. Her head resumes its position safely under my chin and in a flash she's asleep; movement and sound reoccupy the woods.

The clouds rearrange and conceal the afternoon sun, swarming in dark heaps. The blue space above us overwhelmed with gray. I've never seen a storm accumulate so rapidly, a minute tops. Long enough to react and wake Katniss to seek shelter, but the sight astonishes me.

Thunder reigns in the distant, the woods shake in unison. The crackles boom one after the other and a sheet of pouring rain appears like a wall across the field from us. I push myself to the elbows to wake Katniss, but she doesn't stir. The wall of rain bolts forward, consuming us in a downpour. I try to stand but I'm stuck on the ground. Flashes of lighting incase us and the thunder reverberates so loud, the ground rumbles.

"Wake up, Katniss!" I repeat again and again with no luck of awaking her.

Of a sudden the ground is still again and the rain ceases. Looking into the air I try and figure if the Capitol has regained control. As if a signal, I see a bolt of lighting form in the atmosphere and in a slow-motion fashion I've only seen on television, it begins descent.

"Katniss Everdeen, girl on fire. Katniss Everdeen, girl on fire!" The words blast from all directions.

I don't have time to scramble, the bolt returns to its origin and strikes down at full speed, straight towards Katniss.

Boom! The lighting sets the black sky ablaze. The hallowing sound of thunder repeats, causing Gale to shoot upright in bed. Breathing heavily, he can hear the beat of his own heart resonate in his ears. Droplets fall from his sideburns and hair is stamped across his forehead, adhered with sweat. It takes him a moment to gather the episode he'd just encounter was based in the imagination of his brain. Reality proved to be a spring thunderstorm in the dead of night.

The pressure across his waist still feels as real as Katniss squeezing him though. Adjusting his eyes with several blinks, Gale makes out that the owner of the arm is not his hunting partner but rather his youngest brother Vick. He exhales deeply, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

Preferring Katniss to his 10-year-old brother in this situation, Gale isn't entirely disappointed. He's reassured that she is safe and not literally about to be a girl on fire. Furthermore, he loves his brothers. The notion that Vick finds comfort, sleeping curled at his side, is overwhelming and widely accepted.

A new melody of thunder roars around the district causing Vick to stir in his own sleep. Gale pushes himself against the wall, pulling Vick closer in the process.

"I've got ya, Vick." His voice is soft, but clear. The boy digs his nose further into Gale's side, hugging tightly with his small arm.

"You're fine. You're safe," Gale hums.

Vick feared thunderstorms, always had.

When their father was alive, he was naturally the consoler, and Vick would climb into bed with Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne. Though on more often occasion, to allow Hazelle much needed uninterrupted sleep, Mr. Hawthorne would pull a chair to the beds opposite his own. He would rock Vick in his arms till the child returned to sleep and then laid him gently next to his eldest son; watching Gale instinctively alter his position to cradle his baby brother. Mr. Hawthorne would stay planted in that chair throughout those stormy nights, so if ever Vick (or Rory or Gale for that matter) awoke, they'd see him watching over them.

Gale scuffed quietly. He was glad he could provide that same protection to his brothers, but he missed that source of his own security. Soothing Vick with gentle rubs across the boy's back, Gale leans to kiss his head.

Only when he's confident that Vick is peacefully asleep again, does Gale allow his mind to replay his own nightmare. It had been a few months since Darius, a peacekeeper who frequents the Hob, unknowingly helped Gale recognize his feelings for his best friend, Katniss.

The two had known each other for roughly four years, meeting one day in the woods. It wasn't love at first sight, but even then Gale could sense Katniss was special, different than the rest. She had been in the woods after all, a territory outside District 12 that was strictly off-limits. Their friendship was a slow roast, but now they entrusted one another with their lives, their families' lives, and their very most sequestered thoughts.

Gale supposes he may have always been in love with Katniss, however, swimming naked with her hadn't always caused his heart to race or his lower abdomen to fluster. That was new development since Darius joked he wanted a kiss from Katniss. Sure, Gale occasionally kissed her on the cheek, always in a polite and friendly manner; but now he constantly daydreamed about her lips.

The earlier events in the nightmare were too good to be true. The lake was peaceful and secluded, but surround by towering trees. The sun shined too bright, the stillness of the woods too calm. They were able to enjoy short swims and fishing at the lake, but in his dream the Capitol no longer reigned. They were free to be at the lake, not in direct defiance of the law.

Were we married? Gale thinks. We talked about kids but were they our siblings or ours? His mind fishes for details the illusion left out. She said she loved me though. He shuts his eyes as if to urge her dream words to be true.

Gale knows Katniss probably better than she knows herself. He knows that when he does stir up the courage to tell her that he in fact loves her more than just a confidant and that he's known for a while, she'll demand to know why he didn't just come out and say it. He knows exactly why though because he knows her.

Katniss is just about sixteen and in all the hours they've sat alone together, she's never once even mentioned boys. The timing would never be right. She would question how he confuses her for one of the pretty girls at school. Or maybe, he thinks, these are just things I tell myself to avoid admitting my feelings. I want to tell her, I love you.

Part of Gale knows that until Prim, her little sister, turns 18 and no longer has to be entered into the annual Hunger Games, he'll never truly have a chance with Katniss. Her first love has and will always be Prim. He can understand that, having a baby sister of his own. For Katniss, her vision isn't seven years in the future; it's at best seven days. Prim's name will be entered once in the Reaping this year and although the odds are in her favor, no one can predict who will be chosen.

Katniss would say Gale's optimism for a better future is brought on by the fact that it's his last year in the Reaping; forty-two slips away from a sort of skewed freedom. That couldn't be further from the truth, as Gale has not one, but three siblings who will endure the probabilities of being a Tribute. With the next Hawthorne, Rory, being only eleven, Gale will age out before all of the three are even entered; meaning he will never be able to volunteer in their place.

Gale is born rebel. If the bets are on a wild dog, he'll bet on the opposite. The Capitol blares propaganda to diminish its citizen of individual thoughts. Gale instead questions every one of them. He wonders how North American ruled before it became Panem. Gale hopes are of a life outside the mines, his own family, and of happiness and safety. Katniss is convinced he's somewhat of a fool for even wasting time blabbering about what could be instead of what is. Though she'd never tell him that, he already knows that's what she thinks.

If Gale mentioned parts of the nightmare to Katniss, she would say the ending was proof enough that rants and raves of rebellion were pointless. If they could reach your thoughts in sleep, reality would be much worse. Still, he's hopeful for change. He's hopeful that if Prim's name can stay hidden in the big bowl for seven years that maybe by the time he persuades Katniss to add a baby to their family, the Hunger Games will cease to exist.

Gale rehearses the happenings in his head once again and concludes that up until the end it wasn't a nightmare at all, but the perfect dream. Spending the day with his best friend, in their woods, at their lake, laughing, playing, enjoy each other's very presence. He smiles envisioning a glowing Katniss, exuberated from the sun's rays. Besides, what would the Capitol care if two kids from District 12 fall in love, he wonders. He decides to savor and hold on to this dream, blocking its thunderstorm out as he does real ones.

He silently curses, wishing his father were alive to him advice. Gale concludes the dream was near perfect, close enough that he _will_ make it come true one day. He's content, believing he now has a sign to pinpoint when the time is right. When Katniss can see past the mines, beyond what's given, when she's able to accept love again, and when survival isn't her only instinct, Gale will be there.

Ha, some nightmare, he thinks. When his best friend transforms into her own and she finds herself in this mess of a world, he believes that is when the timing will be right. He just needs to give her time enough to become Katniss Everdeen, girl on fire.


End file.
